


Who Watches the Washing Machine

by bmouse



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Blink And You Miss It Slash, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:35:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1544483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bmouse/pseuds/bmouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two costumed maniacs and their laundry aka. the privilege of being Dan Dreiberg.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Watches the Washing Machine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Steals_Thyme (Liodain)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liodain/gifts).



> Thank you Steals_Thyme for all your lovely gifts to us in the fandom.

Dan's basement wall of Nite Owl memorabilia ends, anticlimactically - with a washer/dryer combo. It's been a bad night for the Top Knot gang but his tights and Rorschach's coat have joined the casualty list - mud and filthy rainwater demarcating brighter, more viscous stains. The cheap old dryer vibrates, liable to shuffle itself away from the plug and Dan flails for a while looking for rope or a brace before Rorschach handily solves the issue by sitting on it. He's usually left at this point but chances are he only has the one coat. Dan slowly forgets about the incongruity of his partner's thin bony feet, shaking minutely in their neatly darned socks at his peripheral, busies himself scrubbing a chestplate with a wire brush. Hands occupied, his mouth starts an idle recap of the case - traditionally one-sided until his triumphant finish of "Well that's seven for us, at least!" is met with a "Hu uu urr rr rrm mm m" from over his shoulder.

Dan can't help it, he bursts out laughing.

He needs this laugh, wants it as offset for all the times he nearly got knifed in the kidneys tonight, which is why he lets it echo around the workroom before it dies a natural death as a series of giggles. It’s quiet, except for the thrum of the machine and he’s almost afraid to look up, but he does. The socked feet haven’t moved. Far up above them the black blots of Rorschach’s mask drift slowly, peacefully across the face beneath.


End file.
